


Running With Wolves

by 7CuteCreationImagination7



Series: Teen Wolf Ficlets/Headcanons/AUs [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Parent Sheriff Stilinski, Canonical Character Death, Everyone Needs A Hug, Gen, How Do I Tag, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Ow This Actually Hurts, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Past Child Abuse, Stiles Stilinski Has ADHD, The Hale Family Is Bad At Feelings, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, This is why family therapy exists, but in the past he's a cinnamon roll now, ish, like really bad, un beta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 02:39:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15403128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7CuteCreationImagination7/pseuds/7CuteCreationImagination7
Summary: At Six years old, Stiles knew that this big black dog with bright pink eyes was way, way too big to be a german shepherd.





	Running With Wolves

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! 
> 
> I know I'm late to this fandom. Sorry. I love S3. Like adore it. Like -- WHY DID WE NOT HAVE MORE CORA HALE? 
> 
> Anyway.
> 
> This is a little disjointed, a little messy, and I'm kinda bad at remembering which tense I'm writing in.
> 
> BUT.
> 
> I hope you like it. I love you all, and I hope you have a really good day. 
> 
> Love you.
> 
> God Bless, 7CCI7

The first time it had happened, Stiles had been six.

He had been walking with his parents because he loved walks.

Also, if he wasn’t physically exhausted, he would jump up and down on his bed, threatening both his parent’s sanity and the structural integrity of the bed.

Anyway, he _loved_ walks.

The crunchy leaves under his feet, the feeling of cold air on his skin and the sweet smell of rotting foliage-- it was _amazing_.

But he must have wandered off at some point. Because his parents were nowhere to be seen, and he was in a part of the woods he had never been in before.

Stiles frowned, his dark eyebrows furrowing, his chubby six-year-old cheeks swelling as he blew out a large breath to calm himself down.

The boy had been looking, trying to find the source of an interesting rustling sound, and he must have forgotten to tell his parents, or had just wandered off, focused on his mission and nothing else.

Stiles spoke to the darkening woods, using the faint rustling of the leaves as a sounding board, hoping desperately that his parents would hear his voice, or that the trees might give advice back like they did in good books.

“ I’m lost. Okay. I’m in the woods near the Hale pre-ser-va-tion. I might be in the Hale pre-ser-va-tion. My parents will look for me.”

Stiles decided to walk towards a clearing, where large stumps covered in dry moss were looking like very inviting chairs to the tired child and hoped to find his way to a path, his genius mind already ticking away, flying from option to option as he tried to wriggle himself out of this sticky situation.

The rustling slowed down.

The little boy stopped, sat down on a large stump, and, brushing his mop of black hair away from his ears, tried to identify where the sound was coming from. He twisted his body to look at the source of the rustling.

The child turned, and stared, his brown eyes flickering to amber under the light of the rising moon, but his pupils dilated in wonder and excitement at the sight in front of him.

He felt his heart rate increase and tried to remember what his mom had taught him about dogs.

“ Go down, to show you’re not a threat. Hold hand out, like you want them to give you something, to show that you trust them. Don’t be loud, and don’t make eye contact. “

Stiles found the last one hard.

This dog, she, well, he assumed it was a female, had bright red, almost pink eyes. He was mesmerised and looked up to see the large dog lie down, its hind legs tucked underneath its stomach. The boy drank in the mental information.

She had black fur— no dark brown fur. Her ears were like those of the German shepherds that his dad lets him look at when it had been “take your child to work day”.

Only this one had dark brown fur. And red-pink eyes. And was _enormous,_ much, much bigger than the police dogs.

Stiles knew that his dad had told him that you shouldn’t touch wild animals without super-vis-yon because they could hurt you. He reached out, and decided to speak to her because dogs were all nice, right?

“ Look, I’m lost, and you don’t look lost, and I know I’m not supposed to touch you, but you look fluffy. Dad says I shouldn’t touch dogs without their owner’s permission, but I don’t think you have an owner, because you don’t have a collar. So, please don’t bite my arm off. Can dogs do that? I’ll ask mom. You’re very pretty, but you might need some pink-eye medicine, because, your eyes are very pink.”

The dog patiently let him rub its ears, the small hand stroking the large muzzle.

Its ears pricked up. A name was being shouted in the distance,

“ Mieczysław! Where are you? Mieczysław!”

“Oh, that’s my mom. And my dad. Thank you for looking after me nice lady dog. I hope you get the pink eye me-di-ca-tion, because pink eye is itchy and scratchy. Buh-bye nice doggy!”

Stiles wandered back to his parents and was welcomed with a firm scolding and a tight hug.

He happily spoke of the trees and nature around him, forgetting to tell them about the nice dog he had found.

As he went to sleep that night, his mind finally exhausted after having been given an old medical journal to read through, he distantly heard a howl.

On the other side of town, Talia Hale smiled down at her child, Cora, and wondered if she would be friends with the boy she had met that night.

She spoke up, Peter sniffing at her curiously as she stepped in,

“You’ve been near a human, in the woods. Don’t tell me you scared the daylights out of one of them. You know how they get when faced with wolves.”

“No. I was recommended pink-eye medication by a small boy that had wandered away from his parents. I was also mistaken for a large German shepherd. “

Peter chuckled loudly, Laura and Steven also giggling. Derek came in through the door, frowned at the laughter, before mischievously snatching a cookie from his uncle’s plate.

This night was quickly forgotten, by all but the two adults.

One cherished it as a reminder that humans, if untainted by hunters, were naturally friendly towards werewolves.

The other remembered it as the only night where a human had met a wolf and hadn’t tried to kill it.

 

* * *

 

 

Stiles sat on the field, the ten-year-old rubbing the tears from his red-rimmed eyes.

Dad was drunk again.

Stiles didn’t like dad when he was drunk.

He said mean things or did things that confused him, and sometimes hurt him.

Mom was in the hospital, but they didn’t let him near her without his dad anymore, not after Nurse Mccall had found his mom pressing him up against a wall, a knife against his neck.

Dad said that he was lying and that it was a misunderstanding.

That his mom just needed to take the medication, and that she still loved him.

Dad was wrong, but since no one was listening to him, then it didn’t matter.

Scott had to stay at home, because he had had an asthma attack, and Stiles couldn’t find an excuse as to why his dad wasn’t picking him up, not after the last four nights of eating at the McCall’s.

So here he was, on the corner of the lacrosse field, his hair now damp with the rainwater mingling with tears.

His brain felt full, the Vyvanase prescription was helping, but it didn’t stop the feeling that his brain was packed full of feelings and thoughts and that they were going to begin leaking out from his ears at any minute.

After half an hour of feeling the rain on his back, and wondering if the librarian would tell someone if he walked in, drenched to the bone at nine in the evening, he felt his stomach rumble.

Oh yeah. He hadn’t eaten since that morning. Vyvanase.

Stiles stood up, his limbs stiff with cold after his stunt as a depressing armadillo.

Stiles smiled at the twenty-dollar bill he had, stashed in his pocket, and decided to get a burger. Multiple burgers. The biggest burger ever to exist.

The pre-teen looked at the road and then frowned. No adult could see him.

They would ask uncomfortable questions like, “ I haven’t seen your mom in a while” and “Where’s your dad” and “ What are you doing outside at nine pm?”

The woods. He would have to take a shortcut. Or a longcut. Was that a word? Long-cut?

The point was that he had to go through the woods.

The boy stood up and began walking, day-dreaming, well technically night-dreaming, about how, if this were Star Wars, he would be finding a strange tiny creature.

He hoped for Yoda. But Ewoks would do. Stormtroopers would suck, but not too much, because, _Stormtroopers_

So when he found a dog staring at him, he announced to it, and the rest of the forest,

“That was a daydream! I did not actually wish for Star Wars to happen. No. _No_. I am not going to be a Jedi. That would be bad, doggo. Me, me with a lightsaber. _Bad_. On _every_ level. I was banned from using scissors at school! It isn’t my fault that hair is so fun to cut! I should never be given a lightsaber. But I think you might just be a dog. So, even if this was Star Wars, I don’t think that you would give me a Jedi weapon.”

It was smaller than the other dog, the big black one he had found in the woods, four years ago.

It had lighter fur, a dark reddish brown, and had a different expression. It was also younger, as it’s long snout was a bit shorter, its eyes were a bit too big for it to be fully grown.

The other wolf, the large black one, had reminded him of his first-grade teacher, that had gently told him to not cover Jackson’s face in paint, and had let him grab books to read. The silent, strong, maternal authority had radiated off her, and off the dog, he had met.

This dog reminded him of Katelyn Priss. Or Lydia’s dog, Prada.

Smart, pretty, and filled to the brim with pessimism. Katelyn only smiled and was kind to her family, and to her best friend. Prada would be sweet and lick people’s noses, but if she didn’t get treats, she barked and barked until his head hurt. He wondered if this dog licked peoples noses. Or was named after a handbag.

Then he frowned, he head tilting as he observed the glowing yellow eyes of the …dog.

Hang on. This wasn’t a dog. Come to think of it, the other dog he had met hadn’t really been a dog either It was too big, its muzzle was too long, and its teeth were too sharp. They were both large canines. Long fur, and sharp claws.

Wolves.

This was a wolf.

An undignified shriek erupted from his mouth.

“ There aren’t supposed to be wolves in California! And I’ve seen two! What! The! Hell! And wolves aren’t supposed to have red eyes! Not even yellow ones! I petted a massive wolf with glowing red eyes when I was six!”

The dog whined at the mention of the red-eyed wolf.

Like it was sad.

He was sad too, so he sat down, and rubbed its ears like Scott did to Jackson’s puppy until Jackson had gotten mad, and Scott had begun to cough because the hairs did something to his lungs.

Then three things jolted him.

First, his stomach was still painfully empty, and he needed to eat, _now_.

Second, that the moon was rising, and that he needed to go back home, and make sure his father didn’t choke or something.

And lastly, that he was cuddling a wolf.

Well, he was cuddling a wolf cub, but still.

A wolf.

To be fair, it was like a very big, overgrown, german shepherd puppy.

With huge teeth and a powerful jaw.

And it was licking him which hopefully that meant “you are an acceptable friend” rather than “you would make a delicious meal.”

“ I’ve got to go now, pup- no, uh wolf cub? Yeah. Cub. I need to eat, cuz I forgot, and I need to go back home. If you want, I'll bring some meat over here tomorrow, if you want some. Okay. Sure, I’m making friends with a wolf. Bye.”

The meat he brought was gone by the time he returned to it.

His dad had accepted the painkiller, and the glass of water, and had gone off to work.

Stiles didn’t see the wolf again, but he did see, on his way to school, a girl getting into a taxi. There were large suitcases being piled in, but she was going alone.

She looked like she was his age.

Their eyes met, and for a moment, Stiles wondered if he had seen her before. The boy shook his head and turned back to Scott, who was staring at his math homework in horror.

 

* * *

 

 

 

It happened again when he was fifteen, only this time, it was a bit different.

Jackson had broken his nose, and he had gotten mad, and he may have said something about Jackson having been adopted, and the fight may have escalated.

The point was that Jackson had a black eye, he had a broken nose and a sprained wrist, and a two-day suspension from school.

On one hand, his dad was on a week-long conference, so his dad didn’t need to know.

He also had enough time to actually study the material, without the obnoxious ticking of clocks, annoying alarms and people constantly talking.

On the other hand, he had done twenty-two hours of solid studying, and his body had decided that a four-hour nap was enough, because sleep was boring.

He still had a _full day_ to go.

A full day, with nothing to do, with no one to talk to.

Scott wasn’t off school, but his dad was in town, so they would probably be joined at the hip until Mr McCall would inevitably leave, again.

Boredom, he decided, as he watched the sun rise, was the worst form of torture.

It was seeping into his bones, leeching into the neurons in his brain, dragging his muscles down.

So he stood up and decided to explore the Hale preservation.

He pulled on a long sleeved shirt — long sleeves were bad. He didn’t like wearing them, because they showed the scars that his mom had given him on her bad days, or the ones his dad had given him on bad nights.

His dad didn’t drink much anymore, didn’t seem to remember having done anything, which was good.

Stiles rubbed his short, spiky hair, and walked. And walked.

He munched on a chocolate bar and then continued walking.

Stiles got frustrated after a while. It was too hot and he couldn’t take his shirt off because people would see and ask and— There were no people.

They were at work, or at school. No one lived in the crispy remains of the Hale house.

There was no one to ask.

Stiles pulled the plaid shirt off, leaving his short-sleeved grey t-shirt. It felt nice.

He couldn’t remember the last time his bare arms had seen sunlight.

Stiles walked and then heard the rustling.

He smiled, wondering if the pink-eyed wolf or the yellow-eyed one had come back.

Stiles turned to look at it. It looked back.

Unlike the last two times, he wasn’t filled with adrenaline.

There was no fear, because, well, the last two wolves hadn’t tried to eat him, and the German shepherds at the police station liked him a lot, and even if it did try to kill him, at least the fighting for his life would provide a very good relief from the boredom.

“ Oh. The bright red eyes are genetic. Hmm. Maybe that was a relative of yours. I wonder what mutation caused that? Maybe one related to the red hair gene in humans… Hello.”

This wolf had similar fur to the yellow-eyed one, but it had the bright red eyes of the first one. It was enormous, but it was also very pretty. Stiles smiled at it. He had someone to talk to. Someone to lift the fog of boredom.

“ I’m deciding that Nat-Geo is false. Because you are the third wolf I’ve seen here, and, like, according to police work that’s a pattern. You know, once is an incident, two is a coincidence, three is a pattern. I’ve tried to look up why you, and the wolf I met when I was little, have red eyes, but I just get weird Twilight theories. Also, all the wolves I’ve met are girls. Do you kill your mates or something? Because the black one with the pink eyes, which was huge—“

He stopped. The wolf lay its muzzle in his knee and looked up at him, a pitiful whine emerging from the back of its throat.

Just like the yellow one had done.

“The yellow-eyed one had similar thoughts on Mrs Rose. I know that it is a terrible name, but it is the best I have, considering that she is a wolf that I only saw one, when I was, like, six.”

That made the wolf jump up, its ears pricked and it sniffed at him, before tilting its head towards him, askingly.

“ I don’t know where the yellow one is. I met her when I was ten, she was a cub then. Not a cub. Like, small, but wolf small. I don’t know. She left after a week. I’m sorry smaller Miss Rose. Hmmm, what is your name? The first one is Mrs Rose. The second one is Sunny. You… I’ll call you She-Wolf.Do you like it?”

The wolf froze, and then she licked his arms approvingly, before nudging him, like she was telling him to leave.

“ Hey, yeah, I’ll go. But can you not leave? Like, if you have to, I get it, especially if your pack’s moving but… I like you. And the other wolves. I know that that’s weird, but you’re friendly. I promise to leave meat out for you. Bye. I’m going.”

Stiles didn’t expect much to come from his question.

It wasn’t like he was a Disney princess, or that the wolf could understand him or anything. And yet, the wolf came into the garden, the next time his dad had a night shift. He fed her some rashers of bacon, and then, it began.

The wolf visited him every time that his Dad had a night shift.

Ten pm sharp, she would arrive, and he would give her some meat, and tell her about his day.

She would let him stroke her fur, and he would talk about Scott, and how he wanted to be part of the lacrosse team

. He whispered to her about stuff he remembered from when he was little like mom’s friend, Talia Something, and her pretty daughter, they would come over and eat cookies. Like, how good life had been before his mom had started forgetting things and acting strangely. Scott was his best friend, but She-Wolf was his guardian angel. He didn’t have to keep secrets, and he didn’t have to impress her. She was always there. Then, one night, she had left early. Then, two hours later, he rushed over to Scott’s house, his mind brimming with ideas as to what had caused someone to saw someone in half in his forest.

Stiles never saw She-Wolf again.

* * *

 

 

For a while, Stiles doesn’t even think about the wolves. Because, it appears that he has, instead of attracting wolves, he has attracted werewolves to him.

Because everyone who he knows, is now, a werewolf -- or a something else.

His life is seriously weird.

Scott. Boyd. Erica. Isaac. Derek

It happens that he, _the human_ , is the odd one out.

But they let him stay, mostly because Scott trusts him and not Derek, but partly because he knows what wolves like.

After Mrs Rose, he had researched what wolves liked.

He learns that they were, essentially, massive, very intelligent puppies with extra aggression issues, and twice the intelligence.

So he knows where to scratch when Isaac feels cornered, to get him to calm down. He doesn’t like the boy, _**no** , du_h, but he isn’t entirely mean. And sure, he gets strange looks because he is rubbing his hand behind his friend’s hear, but the way that Isaac’s shoulders slump in happiness is worth it.

Stiles knows that when he makes food, it has to be using lean, red meats, preferably as undercooked as possible.

He has to cook his own food more, because, food poisoning exists for him, but the appreciative looks he gets as the pack eat near- raw steaks overcomes the grimace of horror at the bloody juices dripping from their mouths.

Then, with the whole mess with Jackson, and Kanimas, and Peter, he just sort of lets himself forget the three wolves that were his friends.

He misses them, especially She-Wolf.

Mrs Rose and Sunny, he only saw them once, and he was quite little both times, but knowing that something out there liked him and was friendly, and didn’t mind that he jumped from topic to topic, or talked about the same thing for hours, was nice.

On the days when Scott only talks about Allison, or when no one talks to him, because he is the weird, too blunt, too loud, too annoying kid he really, really misses She-Wolf.

Six months of having her as his friend were not forgotten.

He still finds traces of dark brown fur in his bedroom, and he sprays the whole place with Febreeze one a week, to hide any traces of doggy smell.

He still does it out of habit, a year after she’s left, even though Scott and Derek scowl at the smell of the perfume.

 

* * *

 

Then the Alpha Pack arrives and Derek has a sister, and the animals are committing mass suicide and it is all a mess and Boyd is dead and—

After convincing Derek and Cora to stay at Peter’s apartment, Derek ’s blood crusted hands still shaking, Cora still with tears running down her face as he walked home, he realises that sleep, sleep will not come tonight.

Stiles decides to go to the preserve, hoping that Derek won’t get mad. The seventeen-year-old wants to walk and walk until his brain decides to shut itself off and stop replaying the image of his dead friend in the water.

Erica is dead.

Boyd is dead.

Stiles sheds his red hoodie and lets his pale arms feel the soothing cold air.

He needs to escape the feeling of being restrained, of being unable to do anything.

The scars from his mom's darker days, where she was convinced that he was a monster, are now overshadowed by this from his more recent, but no less heart wrenching, escapades.

Stiles doesn’t think about how long he walks, he just lets his feet carry him on autopilot and hopes that he doesn’t alarm anyone.

He sends his dad a text, something about a sleepover at Scott’s.

 _Lies upon lies upon a mountain of lies_.

Hours later, he sees a flash of yellow.

It could be a flashlight. It could be a wild animal. It could be one of his wolves.

It could be a hallucination because he isn’t quite sure when the last time he slept or ate, was.

Stiles turns to see it, and he rasps out into the midnight air,

“Why is it that you wolves only show up at times like this, hmm? I’m afraid that I don’t have any meat on me this time, sorry.”

Yellow eyes narrow and then the wolf curls up in a ball at his feet. A rustling sound is heard behind her, and another wolf shows up, bigger, but with bright red eyes.

“ Awesome! I’ve never seen a male wolf before. Most of the ones I’ve seen have been girls. Is it okay if I sit down Sunny?”

The wolf doesn’t respond, her ears twitching in the moonlight.

“I’m taking that as a yes. Sorry for calling you Sunny, you look a lot like another wolf I met a few years ago.”

His speech is coming slowly, and he can feel tears building up, his throat tight. He can usually ramble when his chest feels like it’s about to burst, but he’s been rambling and coming up with ideas for weeks now, and it feels like his brain has gone dry, like, instead of focusing on everything at the same time, it refuses to do anything.

He needs to go home, but if he does, he will have to lie, and he will be forced to leave these two wolves, and he doesn’t want to do that, not now. Not when two of his friends are dead, and he doesn't know how this weird and confusing social circle works anymore.

. The forest floor is damp, but not soggy, and though he wishes that he hadn’t discarded his hoodie in a moment of recklessness, the yellow-eyed wolf presses her large body next to his, her heat working to stop the shivers.

The red-eyed wolf looks sad and keeps swallowing like it is trying to stop itself from whining, so Stiles lifts one arm, and tentatively rubs it over his shoulders, black fur being smoothed down by the boy’s hand.

The wolf finally slumps down, next to the younger one, and whines softly, pitiful mewls of sadness ringing into the night as his hand carded through its fur, and a pink tongue darks out to lick it.

It is one of the most awful, beautiful and uncomfortable nights of his life.

The larger wolf, once he settles down and manages to stop crying, curls his gargantuan body around him and the yellow-eyed wolf, keeping a protective stance, whilst preventing either of them from moving.

The night is filled with nightmares, on everyone’s part.

The large wolf begins kicking, and though the yellow-eyed wolf doesn’t wake up, Stiles spends half an hour telling the sad wolf about Mrs Rose and She-Wolf, and those nights he spends in the garden with his crimson eyed friend.

Stiles has nightmares of his own, of everyone dying, of his father getting killed, of Scott losing it on a full moon and killing him. He wakes up three times, to the awkward sensation of wolves licking his face, and sniffing at him like concerned mother hens.

But true discomfort comes the next morning when a naked Cora Hale is wrapped around him like an octopus.

 _Naked_. **_Cora_**. **_Hale_**.

This isn’t much stranger to how he fell asleep, to be fair.

Falling asleep with two wolves curled up around him isn’t much weirder than waking up to a naked werewolf curled up around him.

Stiles gently untangles himself from her, and takes off his shirt, and tries to cover her, using the oversized shirt as a makeshift blanket.

He walks around and smiles at the sight of his hoodie. Good. No one has to see the scars. No one has to see that he fell asleep in the woods. Cora will be alright after she explains where she came from, and where his wolves went.

Cora is still deeply asleep when he comes back with his hoodie, and he looks around for the other wolves closing his eyes as he tries to get the sleeping girl into his hoodie without looking, and lets a breath out as he sees that the hoodie thankfully is big enough to reach her mid-thigh.

Stiles stares at the sleeping girl, knowing that she isn’t quite okay, and decides to take her to his house, hoping that no one finds him carrying the half-dressed, sleeping girl covered in leaves.

For a split second he wonders at how he is covered in brown and black fur, and yet she seems to have been untouched by the two wolves. He shrugs and then winces, as she stirs slightly in his arms.

He sneaks in through the garden gate and sighs in relief at the sight of the cereal box on the table, and the car keys missing from the bowl.

His dad has already gone to work.

Stiles carries her upstairs and ponders spraying the place with air-fresher to get rid of the smell of She-Wolf’s hair, but then realises that given that he is covered in wolf fur, his secret friendships are going to be revealed anyway.

Cora lies on his bed, and he quickly showers, gets dressed, and makes it back to his room to see her wake up, Yellow eyes flash at him.

For a second he freezes, because those eyes, he _knows_ those eyes. Those were the eyes that whined pitifully at him, an auburn wolf-cub and him in the pouring rain, seven years ago. Those were the eyes of the sad wolf that curled around him last night. But then again, he can’t really distinguish between Scott’s eyes and Isaac’s eyes, so, it’s probably just a fluke.

“Your room smells weird…”

“Cora. This is probably a conversation that should happen with two changes. First, I think your brother should be present. Secondly, if it’s okay with you, I would appreciate it if you would put some clothes on so I can open my eyes.”

He hands her some clothes he has, that should hopefully fit her, an old T-shirt of his, some sweatpants, and his mom’s old underwear. They probably won’t fit her, judging by the fact that this girl is, like, six inches shorter than him, but they will cover her up, and despite the fact that she is a very pretty girl, Stiles is slightly terrified of her.

And her brother.

But mostly her.

They don’t talk on the way to Peter’s apartment. She doesn’t mention the fact that she saw him — his scars, his nightmares, his glass board— or that he knows the way to her uncle's place. He doesn’t mention the way she shivers and looks pained, just handing her a blanket and some Advil.

When they arrive, Derek looks even worse than the day before.

His usually spiky hair lies flat against his forehead, his eyebrows are furrowed with fatigue, and the pallor to his cheeks makes Stiles make a decision.

Breakfast.

Dimly he remembers that he and Cora have school, but when you’ve seen a friend— pack member? mutual ally? brother-figure? — be forced to kill another friend — no, he wasn’t working that one out, that was way too complicated—, and you and everyone you know are death threats, and people are being randomly sacrificed, and werewolves exist and—

School just doesn’t seem that important.

Stiles carried Cora in, ignoring the panic settling in his stomach at the was she limply lied in his arms, and let Derek sort her out.

Peter doesn’t even greet him, and Stiles — he knows this is weird.

But he has a way of dealing with these things, and he doesn’t think that this family even know about coping mechanisms that are actually healthy, so he cooks.

Cooking is one of those things that is just easy for him. It had been bad, the first six months after his mom had died, when his dad didn’t do much more except drink, do stuff while drunk, go to work and sleep. Stiles had cooked and cooked and cooked because his mom liked cooking and Dad didn’t and he could cook, just like mom.

Stiles now knew that werewolves needed more food than humans, so he allowed himself to go a little wild. He began with cinnamon swirl pancakes, mixing the flour with the eggs, swirling in the cinnamon-sugar paste, and then smothering it with cream cheese frosting.

The teenager set the enormous stack of pancakes to one side, and before anyone could come and eat them, he began on the next stage: Proteins.

Peter was clearly in a very good financial situation, so Stiles felt no remorse as he pulled out a full pack of bacon rashers, and placed them all on the grill, along with some sausages. On the stove, he whisked scrambled eggs and grinned when he heard the scraping of forks.

Good.

Next, he grabbed asparagus, tomatoes and spinach and folded them into the fluffy egg mixture. When he served it, he felt rather sheepish. He had made enough for the entire pack, and now that there was too much food, he couldn’t cook anymore, so he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself.

Peter grabbed a full three ladles of the scrambled eggs, and then quietly said:

“ Talia may have mentioned, once, that she met a little boy that had gotten lost in the woods.”

With that vague, ambiguous and lightly alarming statement, the older man left, but not before placing a fork in the teenager’s hand and pushing a plate with a pancake and some bacon on it towards him.

Derek came into the room, pale and tired, and despite his usual taciturn ways, he pulled Stiles by the shoulder and took him to a bedroom. Cora was nibbling on some eggs, Peter was flicking his hand through a book, but when he came in, their eyes flicked towards him, two pairs of bright lupine eyes boring into him.

“Uh. Did—did I do something? If this is about Cora being …naked, then I can assure you all that I did not look. At all. “

“Born werewolves are more into nudity than humans. The concept is not sexual or disturbing in any way.” Derek’s monotone cut across the room, with Peter smirking widely, like a cat that had found a vat of cream.

“Right. So. Why the staring? And the sniffing? I know I’m a teenage boy, but, like so is Scott. And Isaac. And B— You’ve spent the last year surrounded by teenage boys. Why?”

Cora looked up, bright yellow eyes boring into his, contrasting with pale cheeks, and everyone’s purple eye bags. Her voice was soft, unlike the usual snark and brutality, as she asked,

“Have you been around wolves before?”

Oh. This was what they were asking about. Stiles wondered for a second if he was missing something, if sleep deprivation, grief and stress contributed to decreased cognitive function. It probably did, thinking over it. This could be an experiment for him. He could do different cognitive tests every day, and see how his results change depending on how he sleeps. Hey, he could even get Lydia to help him if she hadn’t done it already—

 _Three pairs of glowing eyes staring at him_.

“ Yeah. I’ve known three wolves. Not including the ones last night— well one looked familiar— but — wait, you do know about the wolves last night, right?”

Peter pushed himself off the wall, and approached Stiles, his teeth extending out, his eyes flashing bright blue as he came closer, but then something odd happened. Stiles noticed that the three wolves had switched between scenting him and getting very close to him, and being like they were now, pressing themselves up against the walls like they needed to be away from him. Peter whined, like a lost puppy, then scooted himself back to the wall, his static face flushing pink

“…Okay?”

He observed the other wolves. Derek looked like he had last night, if a bit better, physically, there was still a weight of grief, and guilt and his usual brand of angst on his shoulders. He was wearing an oversized hoodie, a contrast to his usual tight, bad*ss clothing. His hair was rumpled, and he looked much younger without his hair spiked upwards.

Cora was still wearing his clothes, well his and his mom’s clothes, looking her usual pale, sickly, sad and snarky self. But she kept pressing her nose to his t-shirt. Which is weird, because, like, that had been clean, yeah, but it had also been on his floor for a while, with all the wolf fur that wasn’t coming out of the carpet and— Wolf fur.

“ Um, so, I’ve seen three wolves, before last night. Two had red eyes, like an alpha's — if they were werewolves, obviously— but one had yellow eyes. Two of them I only saw for a day or so, the last one stayed for about six months.”

He didn’t understand the looks being thrown his way, and Stiles just wanted to go home at this point.

Boyd and Erica were _dea_ d, the _Alpha Pack_ were still hanging around, animals were still _killing themselves_ ,people _were dying_ , the nightmares from— from _everything_ — weren’t going away and Stiles didn’t have the energy to try and understand where _his_ weird wolf thing fit into the other wolf things of the Hale pack.

So he talked. He didn’t care that he was rambling, didn’t care that he was ignoring all the rules of social etiquette — they wanted to know, _fine._

“The first one was met when I was six. She was huge, and just stayed with me as I waited for my parents to find me after I had run off in the forest and into the Hale preserve. She had dark— almost black — fur and had bright pinkish-red eyes. I never saw her again. I met the second one in the forest when I was ten, I think she was a cub. She whined a bit and seemed generally upset, so I gave her some meat for the next day. She stayed for about a week, before disappearing. She had auburn fur and bright yellow eyes, like Cora’s. Then, six months before Scott was bitten, I met another one. She looked the same as the first if a bit younger, and with lighter fur. She was practically my wolf, she slept in my room half the week, and knew when to come over.”

Cora was looking at him with a very soft look, one that looked normal on the face of Mrs McCall, or pre-crazy Allison, but looked weird on the face of a Hale. Peter looked quite remorseful and was ducking his head down, like a sad dog, which was much more disturbing than anything Stiles had ever seen. Derek just stared., and then opened his mouth, closed it, and looked at Cora. He sighed, and then his bones began to crack, and that, that made Stiles gag.

The horrific sound of bones cracking, sinew twisting and thumping on the floorboards took forever, and Stiles just kept his eyes closed for the entire ordeal, before opening his eyes.

A massive wolf. A massive wolf with dark brown fur, and bright red eyes. The same wolf that had practically sat on top of him last night. The massive wolf that was actually Derek.

His life.

“ O-Okay. So, like, werewolves can actually do the full wolf thing. Cool. oh. Oh! So, She-Wolf, Sunny and Mrs Rose were probably werewolves. I _cuddled_ two alpha females. I called one of them a _good girl_ — How am I not dead?!”

“ The last question has no answer, you should, by all means, be dead by now. Derek here is showing off a little, because, no, not all werewolves can shift. It requires either a complete disconnection from humanity or very strong pack bonds to do so. As the Hale pack had legendary bonds, all of us could fully shift. Now Stiles, what does that tell you?”

The teenager ignored the arrogance and annoyance in the omega’s tone and began linking up the dots in his head.

“ The first wolf must have been the alpha of the Hale Pack. The second was after the fire so… Cora? Sorry about the name, Sunny was the best I could come up with. And the one that disa—Laura. Okay. I had an Alpha werewolf acting as my dog for half a year. Again, I’m going to have to sound dumb now, Why?”

Derek walked off into another room, and then, after a repeat of the nauseating crunching and crackling of bone, he returned, and then sat next to Cora.

“ You… there is something in you that attracts supernatural creatures. The Kanima saw you and didn’t attack. Scott tried to kill you but stopped — for no real reason. You loved Lydia for years, and she didn’t even know she was immune to the supernatural. Also, you keep on wandering into the preserve. “

“So I’m what — some sort of supernatural magnet? I just — no. No. I am not dealing with this today, and neither are any of you. Peter, be nice, just for twenty-four hours. Cora, don’t be angry and look after yourself. Derek… grieve and prepare. Today sucks, and just let it suck. I’ll deal with it after this ends. I will send food over at lunch. Bye.”

Stiles walked out and ignored the buzzing under his skin.  He was acting immature, this probably should have resulted in a heartfelt conversation of something but -- he was a legal child, he wasn't supposed to know about this, so being immature was to be expected.

He ignored the way that lupine eyes followed him out and ignored the horrible feeling that Boyd’s death was just the beginning.

 The teenager ignored the awful feeling that this cloud of destruction and deaths was nothing compared with what was to come.

He would worry about this another time.

Now he had things to do. Scott was texting him frantically, asking about him, whether he had slept, or eaten or -- he was texting like a very concerned mother hen.

He also had three missed calls from his Dad, asking him where he was, why he hadn't come home yet, and if Stiles needed to talk to someone.

Stiles had to text the people that loved him, and then they had to formulate a plan as to how they were to deal with the Darach, and the Alpha Pack and-- they needed a plan.

 

This darkness, the shadow of a fox following him but never touching him, that could be worried about another time.

 

Right?


End file.
